On a working cattle property in Australia’s Northern Territory, Dunedin artist Meg Gallagher gathered ringers’ worn-in denim, dyed cotton with red ochre and found a new rhythm to work with.
What drew you to a residency at Bullo River Station? The chance to experience the raw beauty of the remote outback was an obvious drawcard. I’d always wanted to visit the Northern Territory, so when the opportunity arose to do a residency at Bullo River Station, I knew I couldn’t turn it down. I grew up on a small farm in New Zealand, where my mother taught us to treat the land and animals with gentle care, so when I learned of Bullo’s environmental ethos, it was clear we had shared values. Being able to use worn textiles from station ringers, etched with red dust from the land, was going to enrich my work. I knew I’d come back with a huge amount of imagery.
What was Bullo like, and how did it compare to making work in Dunedin? In comparison to my slower-paced, coastal-inspired days in Dunedin, there was no shortage of adventure at Bullo. There’s a magic to it that’s hard to put into words. Some of the best moments were being helicoptered to a hidden waterfall and swimming hole, gliding along the glassy river at sunrise, long drives through vast open spaces and candlelit dinners under the stars. I loved sitting around the table at sunset listening to the ringers share their fearless rodeo stories. On day trips with the guides, I heard wild tales of bull musters and how bold Joe, the station manager, is when catching them. The remote vastness of the place made me want to focus on colour tones and textural shapes rather than detail. The atmosphere was contagious. I was constantly photographing, doing small colour studies and just trying to soak it all in.
Tell us about how the work developed while you were there. Materials, making, memories… I created a piece while at Bullo that I named ‘The Rhythm’, sold via a charity auction with all proceeds going to the Australian Wildlife Conservancy. For it, I incorporated the station staff’s old denim and workwear — fabrics that carried stories of life on the land. I also dyed cotton from the station with its own red ochre, so the work contained fragments of Bullo itself. The process began with full immersion: walking the land, sketching, photographing and absorbing its spirit. Back in my studio, I built a mood board to refine my ideas, then cut and sewed the textiles into a large patchwork before stretching it onto plywood. From there, I layered pigments, paints and dyes, letting each dry before continuing. It was a beautiful labour of love to make a piece that held memories of the station and its rhythm with the wildlife.
How did your denim design background shape what you made at Bullo? My years as a denim designer have meant I’ve become truly obsessed with vintage denim, so while at Bullo, I was lucky to collect some beautifully worn pieces from the station team. To get my hands on a pair of worn-in Wrangler jeans from a hard-working cowboy — it doesn’t get more authentic than that. My life in fashion has given me an insider view of textile waste, which pushed me toward using offcuts and discarded materials in my work. As an artist, I see my role as a storyteller, and I want those stories to lead to appreciation and action. So I believe the spirit of those worn-in, sun-faded workers’ jeans lives within the final piece.
How did the station’s own red ochre find its way into the work? The deep red ochre on the property was just insanely intense in pigment. I spent time under the boab trees, staining old cotton with the red soil and letting it soak in the sun. It was so fun to experiment with. The lush greens surrounding the river and the piercing blues of the sky were also dominant. I did colour studies and fabric dyeing on site, getting those hues down while they were fresh in my mind.
Once back in the studio, was the work what you expected? Actually no. On my travels back to my studio in Dunedin, I’d planned a more obvious composition depicting the Bullo River itself. But as I started laying out my imagery from the trip, I knew the piece needed to hold the essence of the place. There’s a beautiful symbiotic energy at the station, where the people respect the land and the land gives them back what they need. It was that cyclic rhythm I ended up showing, in a more abstract way than a literal landscape.
What does travel give you that the studio can’t? Travel is essential to my creative practice. In my fashion days, I travelled the world sourcing vintage pieces and finding inspiration in big cities, which strengthened my love for treasured textiles and contemporary art. Today, it’s more about a reset and immersing myself in nature. Although I love being based in the deep south of New Zealand, stepping out of my everyday environment helps me see new lines, colours and tones with fresh eyes. Looking down at that vast Northern Territory landscape from the air pushed me to see things differently. Coming at nature from different angles challenges me and pushes my practice in new directions, both technically and emotionally.
Has anything from Bullo stayed with you in a way you didn’t anticipate? Absolutely. This experience gave me a lifetime of inspiration, so it’s impossible for it not to influence me moving forward. I knew I’d come back with so many visual references, but what’s stayed with me is the collaboration with the Bullo River Station community. I see myself seeking out more collaborations in future where art becomes a bridge between people and the environment. This project reaffirmed why storytelling matters to me when I’m making my work.
The post Worn into the work: Meg Gallagher at Bullo River Station appeared first on Homestyle.
